2024.04.15: Court transcript
The "lobby" to the penthouse boardroom is rather comfortably appointed. The furniture carries through the theme of blended Art Deco and Industrial Modern from the rest of the building. For a lobby, it is surprisingly comfortable. Situated at an almost neurotically perfect point between the floor-to-ceiling windows and the elevators is an almost cozy sitting area. In the focal point of this space is a woman. She is almost intensely bright against the cool tones of the room. Perhaps this is intentional. She does not rise to receive any early arrivals, but instead waits quietly for them to notice her. As the hour for the meeting approaches, the various Kindred of the city trickle in in their ones and twos, or occasionally as the entire Clan, such as is the case with the Tremere, Gangrel, and Brujah. There are nods and polite greetings, the subtle lines of alliance and rivalry laying themselves out in the slightest of gestures. A woman with bright pink hair and the sort of attitude one does not normally associate with scions of the Tower stalks over to Doris for a quiet but tense moment of conversation. Doris allows the other woman to nominally loom over her. Enoch must only have one set of clothes, or maybe one for each day of the week, but his appearance doesn't change, He still wears the long pinstripe suitcoat with the Rider-Waite fool lapel pin, with black leather drivers gloves on his hands, a black silk shirt, faded black jeans, black boots, and the black leather top hat. He holds his box of cards to his stomach, upon entering he takes off the hat and tucks the box into it, holding the hat at his middle and taking a place in the back of the room, watching the proceedings seeming to analyze every little detail. The bundle of skirts and shawl fabric had eventually made her way into the lobby, following after a few faces within layers and Echoes-- and occasionally bumbling and bumping into some that were not quite -registered- within her gaze. After fluttering apologies, she made her way to the back and took in the view of the rest gathered. There was at least one face she'd recognized. "The Oracle," she'd hummed out loud, inching and nudging through. A woman in a long black silk dress with a high ruffled neck and black laced heeled boots will enter the lobby. Her brown hair is pulled back in an updo and a black obsidian pin glitters at her throat. She wears matching black obsidian chandelier earrings. She will look around for Doris and motion her over to a corner. Doris rises and glides over towards the woman in black. Her simple 1930s-style sheath dress is flame-colored silk and clings in exactly the right places and the sweetheart neckline leaves just the right amount of décolletage on display. It is overlaid with an elaborate network of bronze- and gold-colored beads, a shimmering net that stops just above the flare at the bottom. There is the slightest train, which forces anyone following her to keep further back than perhaps they felt their rank and station might permit. Her fire opal and pearl necklace is red-carpet worthy, as is the matching bracelet around her left wrist, which is set off by bronze silk evening gloves. There is a flash of silver at the hollow of her right shoulder, a stylized G and I intertwined, the silver glaringly out of place amid the warm colors. There is the faintest haze of gold around her hair and shoulders, a veil of some kind blurring the light around her in deference to the sacred space they stood in and the nature of her office. In a tailored tan linen suit, pale shirt, and a bright red-striped tie that has every intention of screaming "Stop," Balcésar makes his appearance. As the Earth hasn't yet shattered, his expression quite distinctly offers the impression that he is only here because not being so would result in the greater headache. That said, he's at least dressed for the occasion in such a way that his fashion won't be accused as matching the unpleasantness of his attitude (you're welcome, Doris). The suit hugs his well-built frame, and naturally, he's wearing a red-striped panama hat, angled just so, and which otherwise matches his suit. As usual, his eyes are semi-hidden behind a pair of red shades, and his scruffy beard is still scruffy (but trimmed short, at least). He does his best to find and own an unattended space that promises as little interaction as possible. The quiet conversation in the corner, the Keeper's back to the room, ends with nods. Instead of resuming her seat, Doris motions over another woman who is very, very French in a classy knockoff of Brigitte Bardot sort of way and one who is small and dark, with short hair. Introductions are made. and then the women disperse into the crowd again. Once Balcezar is located, Doris goes through the ritual of introducing Harpy Eve Whitehull (the Frenchwoman) and Mona (the small, dark-haired woman) to the somehow still vaguely offensively dressed gentleman of their clan. Then she leaves him alone for the most part, her business to circulate gently among the gathered Kindred and ensure all is more or less well. Once conversations have concluded, Victoria will make her way quietly to whatever corner Enoch has found. Cerriphan's gaze slid over to the approaching Lady Marsden, a brightening smile as she slid back in a faint motion. Did not wish to interrupt, but oh so eager to say hello. Balcésar is perhaps surprisingly entirely inoffensive in his introductions, despite his unsurprising lack of encouragement for small talk. Enoch Smiles at bundle of shawls, "It's ok, Cerriphan. Tell me, how many of these meetings have you attended in this city?" "Oh, this it to being mine first," she whispered toward Enoch, "I am a stranger of these fair, fellow faces. Though there is having being quite a few in this spot already, others lurking and seeking to having a better vantage point in the far back." The bundle tightened the winding cloth around her and settled a little more. A delicate chime rang out. The meeting was to start soon. The stairwell door, which remains firmly closed until the meeting, was flanked by two clearly Ventrue Ghouls, armed with rifles. Doris rustles over to Balcezar, who has the dubious honor of being designated her escort for the evening. There is a sense of needing to gather in clan affiliations. Victoria will take note of the subtle notes in the air and slowly move toward Doris and Balcezar. A tweedy gentleman in the company of the blond cherub of a few nights ago at the Blue Devil make their way over to Cerriphan and Enoch. Ben introduces Doctor Pendleton to the new Malkavians. "Doctor, I was told that you were an individual that I should speak with. I trust we will have time for that later on?" Enoch says, offering a hand "Oh, the Doctor! Wonderful!" The bundle kept close by with a careful gaze. Ding! The elevator rang to signal the arrival of someone, someone new well someone some did see earlier at the Blue Devil and dressed the exact same way. Taking a few steps out of the device that brought him here the man gazed in front of him and took in the area with his eyes. Despite looking like he could really use a damn cigarette, Balcésar accepts his new and sudden role for the evening with a grudging and temporary suspension of grump. Doctor Pendleton looked like he was as surprised as anyone to be here. He dressed as if he was a professor on tenure. He slowly put on his glasses and nodded. "Ah, Mr. Ages, of course." he assured them, shaking his hand. He glanced to Cerriphan next and squinted. "Laterns make it hard to see, little one." he offers, before hobbling a bit forward. "How does the Plastic Lion roar tonight?" The elevator opens again, and Marcus enters the boardroom. For those who have never seen him upright, he stands tall, his face hard, eyes dark and flashing. He is dressed for business is a bespoke grey suit. As he enters, he nods to those he has run into in the past few days in new Alboin. The Bartender from the previous night Saniz spoke with was talking with a gentleman wearing what appears to be a dubstep mask. They are both laughing, and the laughing modulated out in Autotune. "Oh, I'm sorry," Cerriphan tried her best to look apologetic, but even she wasn't quite so sure. She smiled wanly and shuffled to practically stand behind Enoch. "Don't apologize, you've done nothing yet." he assures her, as Ben eyes the small one up appraisingly. "It's a strange city." he chimes in. "Trump 8 hasn't shown yet Doctor, however its half has, the cards will fall where they will, maybe the two will meet up," Enoch adds. Her head shook, "No, a good city, I am liking it here," the bundle shook, and her sweet smile returned, "I wanted to seeing your cards some time soon, dear Oracle!" Walking behind the barman from the other night he stood by his side as he listened to what he was saying with Mister Dubstep. Not interfering, simply listening in. The Dubstep mask was saying something, you think, about 'left eyes' but what that meant was unclear without the context of the conversation. The bartender spun on heel, and tilted his head to Sainz. "Ah, the newblood. How's the unlife treating you?" "Certainly Cerriphan, Readings for family are always on the house." Quite well, with promises of much more. This place is impressive. Love the smell of money all around,” Saintz replies. The bartender smirks at that. "Ah, yes, Money and Gunpowder." he looks about. "Peg one." he gestures to the others in the room. "Quickly, now." The Doctor seemed curious about the 'readings' but not near curious enough to say a word. Cerriphan smiled brighter, "It's been so long since I am having been amongst family, much less this much. Thank you." Oooh, blood money. Fascinating. Simply responded the man as he looked around silently. Enoch tilts his hat, so the Doctor can peek inside, he then opens the box, and cuts the deck to reveal its secret. "Gordon Industries primary export is weapons to the Military. You don't exactly get a giant tower selling girl scout cookies." the barman shrugs. With that, the bundle of shawls settled further behind Enoch to observe and watch, eyes glittering with quiet delight. Of course not. But good to know the Man knows about security. Good for him, good for us. The as-yet-unnamed bartender nods. "You'd be amazed." The chiming grows louder. It is time. I'm actually intrigued. Let's see eenie... Meanie...Mine-e... He says softly to himself as he looks around the crowd. Victoria glances back at the huddle around Enoch, then turns her attention back to Doris and Balcésar. Cerriphan looked in turn toward Victoria, waving her fingers in her direction in greeting-- but then kept herself from moving much further. Doris steps out into a pool of light, letting it turn her veil into a halo of light and the netting of beads over her dress into a sparkling haze. She is mistress of this space, by grant of the one Kindred of note absent from the room. Her attention is on the scattering of new faces in the crowd, separating them out despite their intermingling with the resident Kindred. "Welcome to New Albion, travelers.You are here to present yourselves to His Most Influential Majesty, Marcus Gordon, self-styled Baron of Glasgow, Honorable Guardian of this city, with Sovereign Authority over all who reside within. For those of you who may not have guessed, I am Doris Valeria Ashview, Keeper of Elysium by his majesty's grace and goodwill. We stand on sacred ground here, the eldest of our traditions and the most holy." She glances back at the guarded stairwell as if someone has missed a stage cue. Then, with the tiniest of sighs, she folds her hands in front of her. "Scions of the Tower, be upstanding for His Most Influential Majesty, Ard-Rí na h'Alba Novus, Baron of Glasgow, Master of Hounds, Primarch of Clan Ventrue and Sovereign Authority of New Albion, Marcellus Gordon." A grin is developing on the lips of Sainz. The woman within her several layers of shawls rustled and started to straighten up further, listening to the many titles and watching for the sight of the coming Prince; her eyes grew wide with awe. Balcésar was leaning against the wall looking disenchanted. He keeps doing that. A tall man in a bespoke grey suit stands politely, waiting for Mr. Gordon's entrance. The doors flew open wide. He came. The marching of half a dozen feet in perfect unison heralded his arrival. With a glorious majesty, the Ventrue Prince came from the stairwell with a gleaming grace. His eyes glew with such eager and genuine appreciation. His posture demanded respect. He was draped in a silk suit, accented by a cloak of old Wolf fur that somehow seemed to bridge a gap between Tribal and modern. Behind him was a row of sunglasses and suits, all standing at a parade rest. "Welcome... To the meeting." he offers, with a wide smile. He gestures behind him. "We will be having the meeting upstairs... if you care to join us. Primogens, naturally, will take the table. The rest, seats are provided along the side. Do keep in mind all manners are to be upheld tonight. Those who speak out of turn will be reprimanded." he shook his head, knowing no such thing could possibly occur in his meeting. A subtle gesture of beckoning towards the new faces, calling those who require presentation to join her. The other Primogen are left to sort themselves out as they please, but Doirs is being the good HR director and managing new hires. Of course, the shawl girl would rush for Doris-- she enjoyed the presence of the woman and her Siren sounds, beckoned to accompany and finally leaving the protective cover of Enoch's back. Victoria approaches Doris, looking around for others who might step forward. Enoch would follow Cerriphan and stand next to Victoria. Leaning to whisper in the ear of the barman he says Are we in a hurry? Is there a time frame? Gordon would make his way up to the main chamber. This entire room was build to project Ventrue power. It was a formal, old boardroom, but the table was made of fragments of obsidian, laced with gold. The Ventrue Sceptre was the centerpiece, but a pair of massive Lion statues flanked the head of the table. One was Marble, the other a form of crystal. Banners of each of the clans hung proudly. "Sit." he commanded. The Primogens moved to take their seats, with plenty of seating along the side for the clans to sit just behind their Primogens. The barman shakes his head as he gestures to Sainz. "Not a hard one, but not a soft one either. You'll be doing no talking in there, anyway, so keep yourself busy. If they see you looking bored, though, they would be furious." he stops, and grins at Sainz. "Thankfully, Neonates are lower than dirt to them. You could be wearing a dress and I doubt they'd care." The last comment brought a smirk to the man as he covered his lips from showing a chuckle erupt. A silent one at that. Oh, I will be silent but busy, believe me. Doris remains standing, a hand held out to stop the visitors from scattering to their respective spaces just yet. Formalities must be observed. Once the other Primogen are settled, she inclines her head to the Prince, her old-world-yet-new style echo and reflection of his own. "Your Majesty, may I present Mister Marcus Antoninus, of Clan Ventrue, Miss Cerriphan d'Galdis and Mister Enoch Malachai of Clan Malkavian, Miss Victoria Marsden and Mister Balcezar Cruz of Clan Toreador, and Mister Edward Saintz of Clan Nosferatu. They are new to our city and I humbly ask they be given hospitality." Mr. Gordon nods sharply. "Is that correct?" he gestures for them to stand and present themselves. "Welcome to New Albion. This city is my personal achievement, and in due time I hope you feel the same attachment to her that I do. I would ask that all who wish to say a few short words about who they are and what they will accomplish in the name of the Camarilla do so now." he offers an open hand. "You are all, I am positive, welcome." "I am Enoch Malachai, Seer and Speaker of the Cards for the Clan of the Moon. I serve The Tower through my Clan's time-honored tendency to be blessed with brief snippets of things yet to be." "I am Victoria. I love the arts as members of my clan are wont to do, but my own meager talents lie along a more unique path. In my biochemical researches, I explore protein structure and function, create new compounds, and rearrange the building blocks of life, and in such work I find profound beauty. If my humble researches may prove of use to the citizens of New Albion, I am happy to offer them." Marcus rises from his seat, he has been quiet since arriving, and begins to speak. "Thank you, Prince Gordon, Lady Ashview. I am Marcus Antoninus, of Clan Ventrue. I am an information and technology security specialist and provide those services to the Tower as required.” His eyes flit quickly towards the woman identifying herself as "Victoria," and a quick entry goes into the expanding log in his phone. The last to arrive in this city looked around, waited for the others to present themselves before stepping forward and offer a gracious and very polite bow towards his Majesty. My name is Edward Sainz of Madrid, Spain. I was told of the many opportunities this city has to offer from many among my clan. I belong to the Clan of Masks, this not being my real visage of course and I believe some of you will appreciate that I keep this current facade. I am a security Consultant but seems like I have a brother in skills in mister Antoninus as I provide similar expertise along what Clan Nosferatu usually offers. This is actually exciting! My apologies. He smiled, more like an overconfident smirk. Moving on when allowed he goes to take a seat remotely and produce his phone and fiddles with it a moment while looking around. Obviously, the man is apt with that technology. "I am Cerriphan d'Galdis, finder of Lost Things. The Echoes would happily serving, though I am afraid I am not having much more to saying than that. I am merely wandering through, honored to being a guest." Balcésar is rather a fan of the polite, stoic nod this evening, and provides it instead of words at every opportunity, including this one. This is really to everyone's benefit. His one exception: "Balcésar. I have business cards if you really want to know more." Formalities dispensed with, Doris finally takes her seat. There is the expectation of someone being a gentleman and helping her settle into the chair properly, but if nobody has the right manners she manages with sufficient grace. "Is there anything the Council needs to bring to the attention of His Majesty?" Balcésar is not a complete barbarian and treats Doris in the expected manner! Each clan leader had their chance. It was Mr. Jonathan Crowley who raised his finger first. "Ah, hey, you..." he gestures around the table. "Got some news for our esteemed committee." he sighs and leans back. "Reports are coming in from the wastes. Seems that a serial killer is on the loose, and it's spooking the local Kine." his grin softened. "People are reporting corpses missing their left eyes." he waves a finger around the table. "It's actually the work of the Sabbat, and specifically one "Gunter Hundstalt" or as he refers to himself, the Surgeon." his mood darkens. "I formally petition a vote to have our esteemed Prince give us access to the South Albion Tram for a bit of reconnaissance." he offers with open hands, and a smile that tells the room he already has done so. The (dubiously) esteemed Toreador Primogen frowns, then nods. There is a subtle scanning of the other faces at the table, as if she is tallying up votes. Her tallying was quickly justified. The votes came out. Ventrue abstained, as they were the subject. The Toreador, Malkavians, Gangrel, and Brujah agreed. The Tremere voted nay. Marcus Gordon nodded, and the deed was done. The Gangrel Primogen coughed and took the floor. The Gangrel had a mountain of a main for a Primogen, and the chair that was clearly designed for his massive size still ended up small. "Wolves are appearing in the south." he offered flatly. "Not clear how many. Not clear how much. But they are coming. Be ready." he stopped talking. Not much of a thing to vote on, really. Gordon looked to Doris, for anything to bring to the meeting attention. "Miss Marsden will need somewhere to practice her art. Clan Toreador humbly requests that she be given space in the appropriate district. Additionally, Mister Dominic Green is still missing. I am beginning to suspect the hospitality of our Kuei-jin neighbors is not so hospitable..." She shrugs eloquently. "We humbly request the assistance of the city's intelligence assets to coordinate with Mister Cruz on this matter." Gordon leans back. "I am very sorry to hear that." Mr. Gordon glances to Uncle Johnny. "Do it." he commands, and then looks to Pendleton. "And your newbloods to look into the missing person. You people have a knack for finding the lost and the damned." he commands, flatly. With that, it was clear the Malkavians have a new assignment. Ben gave them both a knowing look, telling them to make sure they met with him afterwords. "As for miss Marsden, is this a request of more domain or merely a haven?" "She needs space for a lab. I leave it to the crown to decide what that might mean." An inclination of her head indicates gratitude and just the right touch of humility. "It will create jobs and opportunities for revenue, as well as draw more mortals to the area." Gordon frowns for a moment, in careful consideration. "... Her lab is to be built in the Bon Vivant District, under Ventrue Property holdings." he glances past Doris at her, and his terribly blue eyes bore into her. "Do not disappoint." he commands, before refocusing on Doris. "We welcome all the Kine we can bring." "As you say." Another inclination of the head. She changes the fold of her hands in her lap. The next one to speak is, perhaps surprisingly, the Brujah. Sarah Moore pounds her fist on the table to get attention. "More and more of my ghouls are going missing." she says, bluntly. "I bet it's that fucking Sabbat bastard." Gordon's harsh gaze caused her to calm herself. "... We're fixing it, but if we don't make headway, expect requests." she finishes. The remainder of the immediate meeting seemed to blur by. One reoccurring issue, however, was the Kuei Jin presence. It was clear from anyone half-listening that one thing was etched upon the Prince's mind: Purging the blight of Chinatown out of the city. The Keeper's priorities are slightly different, more divided between the missing mortals and her missing clansman. More personal, intimate concerns. There are momentary flashes of impatience from her whenever the focus drifts from finding the lost and seeking justice for the murdered - drummed fingertips on the tabletop, a twitch of the muscles in her face. There is no overt sign of rebellion to the general campaign, however. As things seem to slowly wind to a close and silence starts to take over the room, Doris clears her throat. "If there is no other business...?" Category:Logs